Wanna play baker?

The bread I baked this morning is about the best tasting I’ve produced in a decade or so. Unfortunately, it wasn’t on purpose. I’m still challenged by the routine of when and how much to feed the starter and how bubbly it really should be and are there tradeoffs between open crumb and real sourdough flavor? As my mother, if she were still here, would tell you, patience and organization are not my strong points. To which I would reply that I’m trying to be organic and artisanal, not mechanical and industrial. Bottom line is that replication of process doesn’t guarantee replication of results. Isn’t that like most of life?

loafing around and playing last year

Photo by J. Harrington

Perhaps children learn so much through play because, for the most part, they avoid perfectionism. I’m slowly adding a sense of play to my bread baking and accepting that, even if I never “master" sourdough baking, I can still have lots of fun learning, especially if I treat it as play and not as a “major production.” I believe the same philosophy may fit well with fly fishing, too. Didn’t someone, sometime, point out that "life is too short to be taken seriously,” or something like that? I hope so because that’s how I intend to approach lots of things from now on. For example, today I tried, for the first time ever, using a flour stencil on the bread dough before it went in the oven. The results were far less than spectacular. So, when the boule came out of the oven, I brushed off the flour, sliced the bread and really liked the taste and crust.

I’ve learned over the years that it’s unrealistic to expect to catch fish every time I go fishing. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t lots of other things to enjoy on a fishing trip. Have you ever seen the saying that poems are never finished, just abandoned? What else might that apply to?

Playthings

By Rabindranath Tagore

Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning.

I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.

I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.

Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning with!"

Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies.

I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver.

With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my strength over things I never can obtain.

In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am playing a game.

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